


Rosemary Bread

by todisturbtheuniverse



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-15 14:31:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1308286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/todisturbtheuniverse/pseuds/todisturbtheuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompted by scribblesome on Tumblr: Could you please do a ficlet about how Fenris and Donnic ended up friends?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rosemary Bread

Fenris was not a fool—for a fool would not have evaded capture by one of Tevinter’s most powerful magisters for three long years.

His fugitive-born habits were what kept him safe, even when he went to ground in Kirkwall. He didn’t come and go from the estate during daylight hours. The neighbors would gossip about the branded elf squatting in a vacant mansion. Perhaps Danarius had even warned them to be watchful or tempted them with coin. He came and went from the alley, where the ivy was too thick for the nobles to spot him, and used only the fireplace in the backmost room for light.

He needed nothing else for drinking wine and sleeping, anyway.

Within a month of taking possession of the estate, though, there was a brisk rap on the door— _thwack thwack thwack_. It wasn’t Hawke’s whimsical, patterned knock, the one she used to let him know it was safe.

He staggered up from his wine-soaked haze and picked up his sword. Briefly, he considered dousing the fire and scrambling out the window, but the alcohol made him resentful. He’d declared that he was done running, had he not? He would stand and face this challenge, whatever it brought.

The door creaked open. To Fenris’s surprise, it closed again, shutting softly. A single pair of feet marched into his foyer, clanking. Fully-armored; probably a guard, the one stationed in Hightown’s southwest sector.

"Good evening," a pleasant, warm voice called out—loud, but not quite a shout. "Is anyone present?"  Another step, heavy boots suddenly muffled. "Eugh," the voice said, less professional now.

Fenris smirked. The man had undoubtedly stepped in one of the rotting corpses littering his foyer. He still hadn’t found the motivation to remove them from the premises.

"Look," and the voice seemed a touch determined now, " _I_ don’t think you’re dangerous, but the lass next door thinks she heard glass breaking in here. Just come out so I can get a look at you and then I’ll tell her it was a rat. Or something.”

Fenris hesitated, but decided at last that he had nothing to fear. It was a single guard. He had escaped unscathed from worse assaults, if it even came to that. He stepped out from behind the doorway, keeping a loose grip on his sword.

Below, the guard’s head tipped up at the sound of a footstep. “Ah,” he said amiably. “There you are. I thought I might never get a clear look at you, serah.”

He hadn’t drawn his sword or shield. Fenris almost resented him for it.

"Well," he replied. "Here I am. Are you going to arrest me?"

The guard cocked an eyebrow. “Sounds like a waste of time. Seems to me that the Kirkwall City Guard has better things to do than arrest an elf that runs around with Hawke.”

Fenris took a few steps forward until he was at the railing, looking down at the man. He had a broad, open face, made cheerful by the small smile around his mouth.

"I am squatting,” Fenris pointed out, brow furrowed. “And there are enough bodies in my hallway to indicate that I lead an unsavory life.”

The man shrugged. “It’s Kirkwall. People are squatting everywhere. Better people than demons. And the bodies in your hallway? Tevinter slavers, judging by the leftover armor. Shade dust.”

Fenris’s knuckles had gone white. He eased up on the grip he had on his sword. “What do you want?” he asked.

"I’ve seen you flitting in and out of here at all hours of the night. I was curious, and a maid gave me an excuse to scratch the itch. That’s all." The man cracked his neck to the side. "I’m Donnic."

"Fenris," the elf said, albeit reluctantly.

"Well, Fenris," Donnic said, turning back toward the door. "Have a good night, and try not to break any more wine bottles."

He crunched through the broken glass beneath his boots, opened the door, and slipped out into the night. Fenris squinted down at the little pile of glass, trying to remember when he’d been drunk enough to throw a bottle all the way down  _there_.

With a last, uneasy glance at the door that didn’t lock, he retreated to his roaring fireplace. He would find somewhere else to squat the very instant the next guard barged in—but not a moment sooner.

*

On his way out of the alley two evenings later, he found a carefully wrapped loaf of bread, still warm. There was a note he couldn’t read folded into the wrappings, but a fugitive knew better than to turn down food. He sniffed for poison and brought it along to Lowtown.

Hawke and Bethany each took a third. Varric waved off the offer and went over Bianca’s various mechanisms while they ate, hiding his frown, and Fenris didn’t wonder why. The sisters ate like they were half-starved. They hadn’t had a profitable job in weeks, and the coin they’d scraped had gone mostly to the expedition.

He didn’t expect that Donnic would do it again—a commoner’s charity only went so far—but with content stomachs they took down the last of of the Sharps Highwaymen and split two sovereigns four ways. It was enough to feed the Hawkes for a week; Fenris’s share would last him two.

He didn’t turn down the bread, though, when it appeared in his alley every other night.

*

It had been two weeks, and another guard hadn’t come.

Fenris watched Donnic from the window of his estate. He’d worked out the man’s schedule; he had light duty in this sector of Hightown every other night. He was always alert, always ready. When a small group of Pretenders slid out of the shadows to challenge him, he gave a sharp two-tone whistle and held them off until the guards from the other sectors arrived to help. Fenris waited, hand on his sword, and wondered if he would really go to their aid, should they need him.

He heard Aveline’s rallying shout and turned from the window. They didn’t.

*

A week later, he saw Donnic at the Hanged Man, out of uniform, talking to Corff.

"You drink the swill here?" he asked by way of greeting when the bartender moved off to answer Isabela’s demands. It was only polite, he thought, since the man had been feeding him for weeks now. "Can’t you afford better?"

Donnic smiled. “What kind of coin do you think guardsmen make, serah?”

_Better than me_ , he thought, frowning at the cup. “My cellar has better,” he declared.

The guardsman chuckled. “Are you offering?” he joked.

"I have a job," Fenris said, gesturing to where Hawke and Varric were deep in conversation near the door.

Donnic shrugged. “If you’re home at dawn, I’ll bring cards.”

Fenris frowned and turned away, but he didn’t turn down the offer.

*

Donnic was seated on the overgrown planter in Fenris’s alley when he returned to the mansion, smelling like smoke and streaked in ash. The guardsman had his sword and shield with him, but no armor. He stood as Fenris approached. A loaf of bread was tucked beneath his arm.

Fenris eyed the wrapping as he searched by touch for the doorknob hidden beneath the ivy. “Why do you do this?” he asked. “Surely you have better things to spend your paltry salary on.”

Donnic shrugged. “I like baking bread,” he said. “Which did you prefer—the rosemary, or the garlic?”

"I…liked the rosemary," Fenris said, a little haltingly, and stood back to let Donnic in. "Hawke preferred the one with apple in it. You bake it yourself?"

"I can teach you," Donnic said cheerfully, striding past him. "It’s simple, really, and flour is cheap enough even for petty criminals."

Fenris knew that a fugitive would not question this—would take the momentary kindness for what it was, and let it go—but he frowned at Donnic’s back all the same.

"I know what it’s like to be hungry," the man said, as if he’d sensed Fenris’s curiosity. "Let’s leave it at that."

When Donnic turned back to look at him, Fenris shrugged and gestured to the stairs. “It’s the only fireplace that works,” he said, by way of explanation, “and there’s a table. I’ll fetch the wine.” He paused. “Though I don’t know where the glasses are.”

The corners of Donnic’s eyes crinkled when he smiled. “If you think I need a glass to drink, serah, you have very much misjudged me.”

At long last, Fenris smiled.


End file.
